


I Could Be There For You

by Rueroux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mild descriptions of violence, PTSD, Sally being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueroux/pseuds/Rueroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally tries to help John on Christmas Eve. There is a peppermint humbug. And coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write for a prompt on KinkMeme, but failed rather spectacularly at keeping to the prompt. This is what resulted.
> 
> Please be warned, this is my first fic in, literally, years. I hope I've gotten a reasonable handle on the characters, but please feel free to let me know if they don't ring true!

Sally Donovan had been in the middle of pulling a paper cracker with her niece when her mobile went off. A car bomb had been set off in front of a Tesco Express. Apparently the aftermath was pretty gruesome. Not precisely how she’d hoped to spend the holidays.

When she arrived on the scene Sally grimaced at the sight of body parts strewn over the ground. She schooled her expression and cursed her unmarried status that meant she’d had to let herself be guilted into volunteering for the holiday emergency call list while the married officers spent uninterrupted time with their families. She ducked under the blue and white tape that blocked off most of the street, averted her eyes from the bits of gore, and headed for her team where they stood waiting for the bomb squad to finish sweeping the area.

Anderson saw her first and when she approached he waved a hand behind himself and made a disgusted sound. Sally peered around him and saw an annoyed Lestrade arguing with Sherlock bloody Holmes of all people. John Watson, poor sod, was standing to the side holding what was obviously christmas shopping and determinedly not looking in the direction of the blast radius where lay the charred and bloody remains of the victims. He looked decidedly unhappy.

“That bloody arse was here before us. According to Condit, the only reason he didn’t get to things first is because the bleeding car was still flaming and the the fire brigade wouldn’t let him in after they put it out.” Anderson scowled and crossed his arms.

Sally frowned, “He really is a bit of a freak. Think he can smell blood in the air or something?”

Anderson huffed out a laugh, “Probably.” He touched her arm and gestured back to the wreckage with his other hand, “I have to see if it’s safe to approach yet. Try and convince Lestrade to keep him out, yeah?”

“Yeah right,” Sally said dryly. Anderson smirked and turned to make his way to where the bomb squad appeared to be wrapping up.

Sally looked back at her superior and saw him waving Holmes and Dr. Watson onto the scene with an aggrieved expression on his face. Sherlock made a beeline for the blackened wreck of the car, barely managing to avoid stepping on human remains in his haste. John hung back, clearly reluctant to follow his flat-mate into this one. Sally didn’t blame him. She’d be put off, too if her last-minute christmas shopping ended with stumbling onto a scene of carnage.

Sally made to turn back to her boss but just before John left her periphery she saw him stumble a little. Refocusing her attention on him, Sally noticed that he was now staring at the burnt-out car in horror and his face was rapidly losing color. He seemed a little shaky on his feet and was favoring his right leg. Sally was abruptly reminded that, diffident though he usually appeared, this man was a veteran and clearly a traumatized one if his reaction to what amounted to an IED in the middle of London was anything to go by.

She might not be Sherlock bloody Holmes, but Sally Donovan was no fool. Determined, she scanned the crime scene and beckoned Corporal Condit over. She relieved him of two coffees from the tray he was passing around. Target acquired, Sally made her way over to John.

When he failed to notice her approach, Sally cleared her throat and held out one of the coffees. He started and almost stumbled again as he turned, but kept his feet. Sally raised the cup a little and John automatically reached out to take it. His hand trembled and he frowned, withdrawing and stuffing it into his pocket.

Sally tactfully pulled the cup back as if she’d only been trying to get his attention with it and grimaced a little for his benefit. “If you’re going to be dragged into a mess like this in the middle of your shopping,” she nodded towards the bags clutched in his right hand, “you may as well have some sort of compensation.” She smiled. “Now bring yourself over here and have a coffee with me while I keep an eye on those rubber-neckers.” She nodded towards the crowd forming at the edge of the police barrier, “You deserve at least a little normal company.”

When he frowned at that, Sally added with a shrug, “Well, as normal as it gets on a crime scene.”

Appeased, but distracted, John followed her wordlessly, clearly grateful for a reason not to approach the gory mess nearest the blast zone. Sally leaned against the back of a cruiser facing the crowd, leaving room for him on her right. John followed suit and leaned beside her. When Sally held out the coffee this time, he transferred the bags to his left hand before taking the cup in his right.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and took a hasty sip. He grimaced and Sally laughed.

“Yeah, I should have warned you. The goal is usually caffeine content, not taste.” Sally dug around in her coat pocket and pulled out a couple of peppermint humbugs wrapped in holiday themed plastic. She handed one off to John. “Drop this in there, the sugar helps.” It also helps with minor shock symptoms, she didn’t add.

John quirked a smile at her and did as instructed. Sally took her own advice and did the same. As the sweet dissolved it did make bit of an improvement, but only just. Not as much as she remembered, anyway. She mentioned this to John and he chuckled a little.

“Things are rarely quite how we remember them.” John frowned again and twisted to look back at where Sherlock and Anderson were standing over a tire rim, arguing. He blanched and Sally followed his gaze just in time to see one of the medical examiners bagging what looked like the mangled remains of an arm.

 _But sometimes things are almost exactly how we remember them,_ Sally thought sadly. She wasn’t sure what else she could do to distract him, and Sally was quite sure that John really just needed to get off this particular crime scene as fast as possible. She thought that in the future she might try to keep John off crime scenes likely to effect him just as she tried to keep Sherlock off the ones that might keep him coming back for more. It wasn’t that she disliked them --well she didn’t actually _like_ Sherlock, either though-- but what they did wasn’t really healthy.

With every subsequent brush with brutality, people tended to change and not typically for the good. Sally wasn’t interested in letting two of the men she would least want to see on the other side of the law get any closer to the dark side if she could prevent it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when John abruptly stood straight and carefully set his coffee on the boot of the cruiser. He gave her a strained smile.

“Thank you, Sergeant Donovan, for the coffee. Let Sherlock know I’m off if you would, please. I’ll meet him later.”

“Any time,” she started to say, but John was already off. He was definitely favoring his right leg now, and clearly struggling to hide the limp. His knuckles were white where he gripped the plastic handle of his shopping bag.

Sally stared after him for a moment and then nodded her head sharply, once.

“Right.” Sally strode towards where Sherlock was still bickering with Anderson and tapped him on the shoulder. Sherlock took a quick step away and narrowed his eyes at her.

She pointed at John who was limping towards a tube entrance and hardened her voice, “Follow your flat-mate, freak. You aren’t needed here.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and started to look annoyed, but when he followed her finger with his gaze, the words seemed to freeze in his throat. He glanced at Sally and then back at the bit of wreckage he’d been trying to stake his claim over and then again to John’s retreating back.

He cleared his throat and sniffed, “Clearly my deductions are not going to be appreciated today.” He ignored Anderson’s mutter about how his sodding deductions were _never_ appreciated, and continued, “Text me when you imbeciles get stuck.”

With that, he stalked off, obviously hurrying after John but trying to maintain the impression of his normal, elegant stride.

Anderson, eyes wide, whistled low under his breath and jostled her shoulder, “That was astounding, Sally, really. You did good.”

Sally smiled, wide.

“Yeah,” she said.


End file.
